


Monster

by shadowsandsouls



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, F/M, Fear, werewolf! draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsandsouls/pseuds/shadowsandsouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In their eighth year at Hogwarts, and with the threat of war looming over their heads, Draco and Hermione are faced with their biggest fears when Professor Lupin reintroduces the Boggart lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for the fandom, but I've been imagining this scene in my head for months. Please enjoy!

On the day Professor Lupin introduced boggarts for the second time, his students were unsettled. The same lesson had gone infamously wrong five years ago when Harry Potter’s fear brought a dementor into the classroom. Since then Defense Against the Dark Arts had been a little too careful about the examples used while teaching—charmed dummies to practice Stupefy on, and strict qualifications for challenging Ginny Weasley to a duel were amongst the changes made.  

 

So when a classroom full of eighth years stood before their beloved professor, staring in absolute terror at the armoire in the center of the floor, they knew that that day’s lesson must have been more important than simple understanding could comprehend. 

 

Draco Malfoy, suddenly chilled to the core at the thought of what might emerge from the armoire, was torn from his plagued imagination by Professor Lupin’s lecture.

 

“Bravery is not a trait exclusive to the Gryffindor house,” he said with an obvious nod to the gold-and-red ties at the front of the crowd. “Bravery is a trait of wits, and cunning, and loyalty as much as it is common courage. It is understanding what you are up against, devising a plan to defeat it, and remembering what is at stake.”

 

Students began shuffling their feet uncomfortably, sensing the direction of the professor’s speech. “There is a war brewing. Though many professors, and the Ministry itself, feel it unwise to scare you with talk of war, I have decided instead to equip all of you, regardless of your backgrounds or families or houses, with the ability to process fear and use it your advantage.” Lupin looked dolefully at the faces in his classroom—too young to challenge the ways they had been raised to think, yet old enough to carry out even fatal orders. 

 

“I hope you will remember this when you are faced with your greatest fear today,” he said softly, almost with regret.

 

While each one of the students took turns making uncomfortable eye contact with their peers, Malfoy had eyes for only one. Large brown eyes set deep into a dark, heart-shaped face. Massive curls messily knotted into a studious bun. Plump lower-lip quivering gently.  

 

 _Hermione_. 

 

Their relationship, once so secret they had not even told each other, would be brought to light this very day if their deepest fears were truly what they believed them to be. 

 

Stricken, Draco pushed every ounce of strength and happy memories toward her, trying desperately to erase her fear before it was even formed. Their first kiss, hard and angry; their second, gentle and timid. The way he felt to see her in his quidditch jersey. The way their hands fit like interlocked branches, natural and smooth. 

 

But the shine of water in her deep brown eyes was enough to tell him that nothing could fix what was about to be done. He wished desperately to hold her. 

 

 _I suppose I’ll be able to after today,_ he thought bitterly. 

 

“Alright, form a queue!” came the professor’s loud voice. “I want silence and respect today, and nothing else. This is the most difficult and draining lesson of the year, and I will not have any of you feel any less for your fears.”

 

As the jittery voices died down and a somber line was made, Draco realized he was in front of Hermione. He prayed hopelessly that his boggart would show anything other than the nightmare he had had every night for the last few weeks, but he knew no god in the universe would hear him now. Not after what he had done.

 

Seamus went first, poor unlucky bastard, and was instantly struck by what onlookers could only interpret as darkness. The formless smoke surrounded Seamus, black as coal, and trapped him inside, moaning in panicked fear. Several long, agonizing moments went on as Seamus struggled to control himself long enough to cast the counter charm, and as the darkness burst into a shower of rainbow confetti, it fell onto Seamus’ collapsed, quaking form. 

 

If Draco were lucky, perhaps his turn would be as short as Seamus’. 

 

Several more students went after. Padma Patil staring at a reflection of herself, haggard and dead-eyed. Lavender Brown shouted down at by a couple that appeared to be her mother and father. 

 

The unease continued to mount when Pansy Parkinson saw her father in full Death Eater regalia, but began to lighten when Ron Weasley once again saw a very large spider. Even in the face of war and death itself it seemed the Weasel was still more afraid of arachnids than anything else.

 

Though Draco’s shoulders began to relax after Ron’s turn, they quickly tensed when it was his turn to present his fears like a demented show-and-tell. He remembered suddenly that he never got a chance at the boggart last time. He wondered absently what his deepest fear might have been then, what it would seem like compared to what he knew he would face in a few seconds. 

 

Draco cast a pained look backwards. _I’m sorry._ With eyes closed and breath held, he stepped forward.

 

A moment passed in heavy silence. Another. And another. Trembling, Draco opened his eyes and saw a woman in a white, sleeveless nightdress, striking against her dark skin. She was kneeling several yards in front of him, her curly head bent. Her hands rested on a large, rounded belly in either pain or benediction. Perhaps both. 

 

“No,” Draco whispered, though it sounded like the loudest noise in the room. A rush of whispers raced through the crowd. Who was this woman? She was obviously not his mother, and he had no sisters. Was it a lover? Was it anyone they knew? Was Draco afraid of women in their pajamas?

 

Quickly, Draco raised his wand, ready to end the nightmare before it began. 

 

“Ridi—”

 

“Draco,” the woman gasped. A pitiful whimper escaped his tight lips. 

 

The curly head lifted and revealed the terrified face of Hermione Granger. A loud gasp from the crowd of students sent Draco’s heart into his stomach—today, the school would know what they had kept a desperate secret, and it was his entire fault.

 

“Draco, please,” moaned the Hermione in front of him. “Please, it hurts. Draco, I’m scared!” Her brown eyes were swimming with tears—brown eyes he knew so well, loved so deeply.

 

“No,” he said again, weaker than before. A whimper more than a word. 

 

“I’m going to die,” she wailed, tears pouring down her sweet face. The features he had traced every day for over year were twisted in anguish. “Your baby will kill me. You’re going to kill me, Draco!”

 

With an audible sob, Draco fell to his knees. “No, no I won’t. It won’t kill you.” He had never been this afraid in his life; he felt sick. 

 

The boggart Hermione rose slowly, sinuously to her feet, her face morphing from pain to anger.

 

“You are a monster,” she spoke maliciously. “You and your child are monsters, and you will make a monster out of me.”

 

“I won’t!” Draco screamed, his throat raw. Tears ran hotly down his cheeks, hiccupping breaths hurting his chest. His heart sped up as she padded slowly toward him, bare feet echoing on the polished wood. 

 

His chest felt tight, his heart on fire. How could something he knew was an illusion terrify him this badly? He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t think, only stare in sorrow and fear at the image of the woman he loved walking toward him to deliver his death along with his child.

 

“Monster,” she shouted with every footstep, growing louder as she grew closer. Blood began to pool at her bare feet, darkening her white dress.

 

Draco screamed a low, guttural noise that sounded like the monster this Hermione accused him of being. Her feet splashed grotesquely in the blood that poured from her own body. 

 

“ _Monster!_ You will kill me!”

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered breathless, his body empty. “I’m so sorry.” Feebly, he lifted his wand in defense. 

 

“ _You’re a monster!”_ she howled. “ _Monster! Monster! Monster!”_

 

“Ridikulus,” he said, softer than breath, closing his eyes when her screaming stopped. A moment passed, and then a soft, mittened hand touched his face. 

 

“What are you doing on the ground, silly man?” It was his Hermione. From a memory he held closer to his heart than anything. She began to laugh. “It’s snowing!”

 

Hermione pulled him to his feet, wiped the tears from his face, and began to spin under the invisible snow. Her eyes were closed in bliss, face tilted upward. She stopped suddenly to stare into his eyes, smiling brighter than the sun. 

 

“Well, come on then!” she said with a giggle. Hermione grabbed his hand and led him toward the armoire. Exhausted, Draco followed until she slipped behind the door with a quick kiss to his cheek.

 

Alone and utterly spent, Draco rested his forehead against the rough wood of the closet, noiseless sobs ripping through his chest. He could not turn around, could not face her or his classmates. He wanted desperately to disappear, but he could not even breathe much less move. 

 

A pair of hands gently lighted on the space between his shoulder blades. A mouth whispered nothing into his ear. He knew these hands; they were not created by nightmare or spell. They were her hands. 

 

“Hermione.” She kissed the back of his neck, stroking comfortingly, her silent tears wetting his shirt. “I want to go home.” She nodded against him.

 

“You’re not a monster, Draco. I’m not going to die.” Her voice was thick, heartbroken. She traced the claw marks left by Fenrir Greyback—Draco’s own monster—and he felt the breath leave his body, this time in relief instead of anguish.

 

“If you say it, it is so.”

 


End file.
